


Learning to Cope

by trufield



Series: Harry S. Truman: One Man Animal Rescue [3]
Category: Twin Peaks
Genre: Alcohol Abuse, Chickens, Gen, Post S2, This was supposed to be fluffier, h/c, pre slash, there is still some fluff, vomit warning/mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-29 14:16:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11442600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trufield/pseuds/trufield
Summary: There's a creeping realisation that Cooper isn't coming back. Albert returns to Twin Peaks one last time and must come to terms with how Harry has been affected by the situation.(Working titles: Harry S. Truman: One Man Animal Rescue or What If There Was More Than Just Chickens?)This fic is now supported by INCREDIBLE fanart by superkamiokande - see end of work for the link!





	1. Hope of Resolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albert visits one Harry S. Truman. He didn't expect the house to have any other occupants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [21-22 March 1990]

Albert Rosenfield had spent more time than was reasonable in Twin Peaks. Yet here he was driving past Douglas firs into what he would've described as an unsightly scab of a town except now it felt like a raw wound. The unpleasantness was no longer hidden beneath the surface but oozing out into view. Many of the residents still seemed resolved to patch it up and ignore the infection spreading through their lives. It was endlessly frustrating.

He had been here to investigate Cooper’s disappearance a year ago. He had been determined not to leave without useful evidence or a lead - he was there far, far too long. He became increasingly agitated the more time passed, hopelessness feeding frustration. He had found nothing of course. He blamed the incompetence of the law enforcement, of Doc Hayward, of this shitty little town. He lashed out at everything and everyone until Gordon came to drag him away.

After a year of nothing they had to put the case on the back burner and directed resources to more pressing matters. Someone had to go back and copy all relevant documents and ensure they had all of the information to file away. One last trip. Wherever the case led them now it was beyond Twin Peaks. It felt too much like shutting it down, like giving up. It made Albert feel sick. Much to everyone's surprise he had volunteered. Gordon had been reluctant to let him go at first, he didn't need to be keeping tabs on his behaviour, but it was evident Albert was the best person to ensure they had everything they needed.

He was acutely aware he had behaved inappropriately - he wasn't an idiot. Another reason for his decision to return, although his feelings hadn't changed in the slightest. Sheriff Truman had to bear the brunt of his venom. As time wore on their fights became more frequent, increasing in intensity. Albert knew he hadn't been fair but Truman could take it. Whenever thoughts of the town came unbidden to his mind guilt was now added to the bitter cocktail of emotion. Twin Peaks was always in the back of his mind, lodged there by lack of resolution. He wanted to stop it plaguing him but knew that would be impossible. He could only try to alleviate it. So here he was.

He booked in at the Great Northern, mercifully not encountering anyone he recognised. He avoided everyone and used the minimum amount of words to check in. It would be of no use for him to get riled before he began. He ignored the receptionist’s irritation and didn't thank her for the key. He went directly to his room and waited for nightfall. An endless, excruciating wait.

\-----

He listened at the door for the corridor to be silent before departing. There were large groups of people when he reached the foyer but most were too distracted by each other to notice him leave. He had to push past some of them to reach the door and took the opportunity to shove them aside and listen to their annoyance behind him. It eased his mood somewhat.

The cool air breathed life into him as he made his way to his car, gravel crunching underfoot. He stopped before getting in, leaned against it and lit a cigarette. He looked at the sky as he smoked. The stars were so much clearer than in Seattle. He delayed himself by identifying the constellations he could see. It might have been beautiful but there were other places he'd rather see stars. He stubbed out the cigarette and got in the car.

He drove to Sheriff Truman’s home. He'd never been before but he'd looked up the address. Albert figured he'd be back from the station by now. Was he overstepping the mark turning up at the man's residence after how they had left things? Probably. That wasn't his current concern. All Albert's attention was focused on making the most minimal footprint. If there was to be a conflict there would be no witnesses, no additional drama. Just Truman and himself.

He pulled up at a distance from the house. There was no car in the driveway. Albert decided to walk in the edge of the woodland in an attempt to keep his mind clear. The only sound was the soft swaying of the trees and twigs cracking under his heel. Silence was a poor distraction, he felt anxiety claw at his insides. He didn't know what he would say or where he would begin. He had put off thinking about this moment but now it was finally here. The lights were out in the house. His hands were cold. He considered going back but he knew he couldn't drag it out further. He walked. He waited.

Finally he heard an engine then saw the lights - dazzling in the dark. Truman pulled up, parked at a clumsy angle and rushed out of the vehicle, stumbling as he went. He almost forgot to shut the door - taking two paces before leaning backward to slam it closed. He dropped his keys twice on the doorstep in his hurry in get inside. That door slammed too. Albert thought it may be best to wait a little longer.

\-----

Albert's patience was wearing thin, the cold was biting into his bones and the woods were beginning to creep him out. It felt as if they were pressing in on him, getting denser in the darkness. The lights now illuminating the windows were appealing. He made his way out into the open, up to the house and knocked on the door three times, brisk and sharp.

He heard apparent clumsiness from inside: crashing and what he could only assume was cursing. The door was wrenched open and he was met with Harry's face, tired and tense.

“Albert?” His voice was rough.

Thankfully he seemed far too dumbfounded to be annoyed. There were dark rings under his eyes, his hair was longer and wilder, at least a day's worth of stubble adorned his chin and he was wearing a quite frankly offensive sweater. Albert studied it in distaste and could see it appeared to be coated in animal hair. One of Truman’s hands was still on the door, the other was cradling the bottom of the sweater in an odd way. He noticed it was folded up into itself slightly like a makeshift pouch. A nose appeared out of the opening. It wriggled. Truman looked down.

“Oh, I have to… Hold on.” He disappeared inside.

Albert was not going to stand outside any longer. He let himself in and closed the door behind him. He nearly choked on the breath he inhaled - a lungful of the distinct scent of animals with the undercurrent of alcohol. He grimaced. He heard more clattering and muttering, sighed and decided to follow the noise.

Harry was in the kitchen, syringe in one hand, spiky ball in the other. Albert supposed he had him beat on the element of surprise. He walked around to him to better see what he was attempting. He was trying to get the syringe in a hedgehog’s mouth but it kept scrunching its face inward and making ridiculous huffing noises. He might have succeeded if his hands weren't shaking so severely.

“Give me that,” Albert snapped, removing the syringe from his fingers. “Just keep hold of that thing.”

Harry complied and Albert managed to jam the tip of the syringe between its jaws. As soon as he began to push the plunger down the hedgehog pushed its face out, happily lapping up whatever it was being fed.

“Can you draw up some more?” Harry said softly, indicating a pot on the counter with his head. “We need to give him as much as he's willing to take.”

Albert followed instruction and repeated the process. He thought it would be easier now the hedgehog realised it liked what it was getting but it was an exact repeat of events - face scrunching and complaining in noisy breaths before obliging. It licked around its mouth loudly in the interim when Albert drew up more solution, clearing up the mess left around its mouth. They managed to get three syringe-fulls into it before it became restless - uncurling and failing its legs around. Harry made soft noises to it as he flipped it over and placed it back into the pouch.

“Last time I checked hedgehogs aren't a native species,” Albert said.

“I know, it's probably why he wasn't doing too good out there. I have no idea where he may have come from.”

The slender nose poked out again, followed by a spiky body as the hedgehog attempted to climb Harry's sweater. He chided it in his hushed way and picked it up.

“I'm going to have to put him back.”

Albert waited in the kitchen for him to return, busying himself with cleaning out the syringe and closing the container. When Harry appeared in the doorway he was thankfully hedgehogless and sweaterless.

“...Thanks for your help. I was late, he needs regular feeding.” Albert didn't respond, forcing Harry to continue. “Um, do you want a drink?”

“Sure.” Albert glanced at the bottle of scotch on the counter, thinking that was probably a bad idea and maybe he should clarify. Harry followed his gaze and hurriedly placed two coffee cups on the counter a little too hard before Albert could say anything.

They stood in awkward silence until the coffee boiled. Albert needed to thaw out so was relieved when Harry finally poured piping hot liquid into the cups, steam rising to the ceiling. Their fingers brushed when he handed it to him. Harry frowned.

“How long have you been outside?”

“I've just come to copy some files,” Albert evaded. “I didn't know how you would react so I came here first.”

“How _I_  would react?”

“You, anyone, everyone.” He distinctly avoided ‘ _me_ ’. So much for attempting an apology. He knew Harry was right but the admission stuck in his throat. Harry sighed.

“I don't want you here Albert.” Had his voice roughened from drinking or was it just the trauma of seeing him again? “I'll send the files up to your room at the Northern tomorrow. You can copy what you want, drop them at the front desk of the station and leave. I think you can manage that without incident.”

“Right,” Albert said, downing his coffee and heading to the door. Harry closed it behind him without a word.

Wasn't this what he wanted? Causing minimal disruption and leaving as soon as possible? Why did he feel so shitty about it? He lit a cigarette and ignored his other goal for being here - the impossibility of resolution.

\-----

Morning arrived without files. Albert couldn't quash his feelings about this place for another day. He paced the room, irritation mounting. So much for getting away without incident. He left and headed to the station.

He strode through the doors and was greeted by a stunned, icy silence. Hawk was leaning on the front desk, Lucy's wide-eyed stare visible behind it.

“Agent Rosenfield,” Hawk greeted warily.

“Where's Truman?” Albert barked. It was clear that no one had been aware he was in town. Harry had some explaining to do.

“The Sheriff comes in later,” Lucy chimed in. Hawk glared at her for giving away sensitive information. He looked back at Albert.

“You've already seen him… yesterday. You should have come here first.” Albert didn't like the worried look on his face.

He turned on his heel and went back to his car. Anxiety gnawed at his gut, his palms were clammy on the steering wheel. Dread crawled up his spine as he neared Harry's home. Something felt very Wrong. Hawk’s accusatory, fearful gaze was burnt into his brain. Why was everyone so damn cryptic?

He parked beside Harry's car almost as haphazardly as Harry had the night before. He ran up to the door and was prepared to hammer on it but as soon as his fist connected it pushed open. Not good. He closed it behind him.

“Truman?” He called out. No response.

He walked into the living room to find Harry sprawled uncomfortably on the couch, bottle of scotch upright on the floor. The relief was strangled by guilt. He removed the bottle and checked Harry was actually breathing (he was). He went to the kitchen and poured the remnants of scotch down the sink. He almost broke his neck when he turned and tripped over a cat.

“ _Fuck_!”

It jumped aside, a slender black thing, contempt in its yellow eyes. It sniffed at an empty food bowl and looked back at him. He attempted to leave the room but it wove itself around his legs with every step he took, meowing incessantly.

“I can’t feed you if you kill me fleabag.”

He conceded to find the cat food if he wanted to avoid injury and began searching the cupboards. When he found the correct one the cat jumped inside it. He was tempted to shut it in but took the bag out and the cat followed him back the the bowl. It began to eat as soon as the biscuits hit the ceramic so Albert had to finish refilling it around its head.

As he closed the cupboard back up he became aware of scuffling noises outside the back door. He peered out of the window. A chicken coop. Great. He supposed they were shut inside. He considered letting them out but remembered Harry's concern about feeding the hedgehog regularly so took that as his next priority.

He found the liquid food in the fridge and left it on the counter to reach room temperature. His jacket and tie were removed and shirt sleeves rolled up before he ventured outside. He crouched down to unlatch the coop door and immediately got a face full of feathers as four hens exploded out of the doorway, clucking their annoyance at him. He shot back up, almost falling backwards as he attempted to stabilise himself without treading on any of them as they were now pecking at his shoes.

Gingerly stepping around them, muttering curses, Albert made his way to the shed. Whatever he had said of Harry in the past, he was a practical man, anything he looked for was in the place he expected it to be. He opened the shed door. Except chicken feed apparently. There was a _fucking goat_ looking at him. He had to throw both arms around its neck to prevent it getting past him. It bleated protests loud and stupid in his ear. He pushed it back and hurriedly shut the door. He lent his back against it and heard a hoof forlornly scratching at the wood.

What the fuck was he doing? Equally forlorn bleating didn't provide much of an answer. He had to admit animal wrangling provided an effective distraction. Trust Harry to develop this mess as a personal coping mechanism. The flaw with it was if he became unable to manage the requirements. He reasoned that was why the front door had been open. He wondered how often someone had to come and clean up and who that someone would be. Harry seemed to have reduced his work duties to avoid incident but Albert had fucked that up.

He noticed a storage cupboard at the side of the shed. Chicken feed. He continued searching and found something labelled ‘Farmyard Friends’ which he assumed was suitable for goat consumption. He threw handfuls of feed as far as he could to get the hens off his feet. As they scurried off he figured out how to separate the top half of the shed door from the bottom to move it independently. It was simple enough, it seemed Harry had manually converted the shed into a stable. Albert leant over the bottom door to pour feed into a bucket that was inside. He had to wrestle with the goat to prevent it taking the entire bag out of his hands.

Satisfied, he put everything back in storage and returned to the house. The cat stared at him in a way he considered mocking.

“Fuck you too.”

Back in the living room, he located the hedgehog cage. Harry's position on the couch remained unchanged. Albert prodded around inside the cage until he was greeted by small angry train noises. It was under a blanket so he picked the entire thing up and took it into the kitchen. He placed it on the counter as he filled the syringe. He carefully unwrapped the writhing bundle to be met with a curious nose. He scooped a hand underneath the creature - it didn't seem to mind - and held it against his chest. He wasn't sure of the best method to get it on its back.

“Don't tell me you came through some inter-dimensional portal in the woods.”

The hedgehog made a move to climb up his shirt so he held it away from himself. He placed his other hand over its shoulders and flipped it onto its back. It instinctively curled up in his palm, the spines were uncomfortable but not exactly painful. Syringe in hand, he repeated last night's procedure. Four syringe-fulls this morning, it must have been hungry.

The phone rang as he made his way back to the cage, jarring in the silence. Albert swore and frantically followed the sound. There was a phone on the kitchen wall, he tore the handset away. He heard a pained groan from the couch.

“What!?” He barked.

“...Albert?” He frowned trying to identify the voice. Hawk, it was Hawk.

“Yes?”

“I was just checking in on Harry - he's normally here by now.”

“He's sick.” Hawk wouldn't buy that, he probably knew Harry best and could figure out exactly what had happened. He heard Harry moving around heavily.

“It's okay, he doesn't have to come in. It's looking like a slow day.”

Albert hung up and wondered how often the station had to manage without Harry. He entered the kitchen, scrambling past him, hand over his mouth, to the sink, where he retched the scotch back up. He groaned and put his head in his hands. Albert put a hand on his shoulder - his other still holding the hedgehog blanket bundle.

“Come on. You can keep your eyes closed.”

He guided Harry gently back to the sofa and sat him down. His eyes were closed. Albert placed his other charge back in its cage before locating pills for Harry's hangover. He returned to the couch, pressing a glass of water into his hands.

“Take these,” Albert said offering the pills. Harry grunted as he opened his eyes to oblige.

“What time is it?” His voice was pained and rasping, with an air of desperation.

“Never you mind - Hawk is aware you're not going to work and I've fed your personal petting zoo.”

“ _What_?” Harry flinched at his own outburst.

“Hedgehog, cat, chickens, goat. Please tell me there's nothing else.” Although at this rate he wouldn't be surprised if Harry told him there was a python in the bath.

“No…” There was still an edge of worry to his voice.

“Harry if you're going to ask me to clarify that I've fed them correctly it will be the biggest insult you've ever levelled at me. I'm a fucking Special Agent I can deduce which species require what food. If there is anything else they will survive until your head clears and you can do it.”

Harry eased himself back, satisfied with that response or unable to articulate his own.

“Sorry about the files… I'll give them to you later.”

He could go to the station right now and get them himself but Harry still seemed concerned to let him loose on the populous of his precious town. He would respect his wishes this time. There was no time limit on his work, only his patience. He felt the tension had eased somewhat. Perhaps he could last another day.

Albert went back to the kitchen to retrieve his jacket and took a notebook from the inside pocket. He wrote his room number on a page and left it on the coffee table by the couch.

“Will you be alright?”

Harry grunted an affirmation. Albert left.

\-----

Back at the Northern Albert considered Harry's situation. He had noticed he was developing a drink problem in the weeks after Cooper left. Harry being Harry kept it quiet, probably only to the confines of his own home, but Albert knew the signs. It hadn't started to impact on his work, he had still been punctual, but in the days before Albert had left he had noticed a hip flask being hurriedly stashed into his desk drawer. Letting it slip into daily routine to get you through the day was the first major misstep. He reasoned that may have been another reason their arguments became increasingly volatile.

Now he was becoming aware that it was impacting on his work. Albert assumed from Hawk’s reactions that Harry had reduced his own workload, becoming more of a figurehead than fieldworker. He theorised Harry had begun to acquire stray animals to provide himself with a purpose, responsibility to keep him grounded. Perhaps to feel wanted and needed. But he doubted Harry could decline any creature in need, especially if he felt he had to make up for his part in Cooper’s loss. The stress of the responsibility he had created in his own home now weighed on him too.

Albert had seen the early signs and ignored them. His only focus was Cooper, everything else, as usual, was an irritant. He didn't want any more problems, he had quite enough to deal with. He assumed that the quaint community spirit would help Harry out. He shouldn't be surprised that it hadn't. Not only due to the town's toxic nature but also because Harry was a private and selfless individual.

He had to accept he was partly responsible. He had definitely contributed to the problem, during the last days of his previous visit and yesterday. Harry had cared for Cooper too and he blamed himself for his disappearance, Albert knew. He remembered Cooper taking Harry's side in their first argument. He would have wanted him to help. Help this shitty town, help Harry. Albert thought of Harry's face - his soft smiles and soft eyes - and realised he couldn't recall the last time he had seen him like that. That was what he wanted, he decided. For Harry to be returned to his usual self. Kind and gentle and good. He would help him overcome his problem. It's what Cooper would have wanted.

The parallels of their situations was not lost on him. He blamed himself for not being there for Cooper, for not being able to find him. He hadn't fallen into new vices but he worked even more overtime and smoked with greater frequency. Harry dedicated himself to strays and he was dedicating himself to Harry.

This might take more than an extra day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't even make it to the joke this whole thing was created from!  
> (Why can't I seem to write a one-shot?)


	2. A Dream of Domesticity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albert does chores and forms attachments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [22-27 March 1990]

Harry had come by that afternoon with the files. He was clean shaven and he'd made an attempt to tame his hair. He hadn't stayed long and they hadn't spoken much but there wasn't any tension between them. It was definitely progress.

Albert only spared the files cursory glances. He didn't want to be reminded of any of these events. He passed the photograph of the Palmer girl’s dead face, sighed and put everything back in the box. He would just make copies of everything. They probably already had most of it but if someone wanted to complain they should have come their own damn self. He commandeered the photocopier in the reception office, much to the receptionists distaste, and set to work.

He only managed to last a few hours before he had to admit defeat. Watching a machine spit out paper in steady repetition wasn't the height of entertainment for him - although he thought it probably could be to the residents of this town. He had occupied his mind with thoughts of Harry and making his next plan of action but one can only go over the same thought process so many times. Now was as good a time as any to act on it.

\-----

“ _Albert!_ ”

He heard the shout as he approached the house. He pushed his way inside, door thankfully open again, (how could something be so reassuring and concerning at once?) and rushed to the source of distress. Harry was crouched on the floor, frantically checking over the hedgehog, hands shaking. He looked up, startled, as Albert stopped in the doorway.

“... I dropped him…” He sounded so guilty but the damn thing looked like it always did, attempting to wriggle out of his grasp.

“How did you even know I was here?” Harry looked sheepish and it dawned on him. “ _No fucking way_. You named that thing _Albert_?”

“It seemed fitting,” Harry said as he stood.

“You know I don't even want an explanation.” Albert walked into the room and found the syringe. “Do we still need to do this?”

“Yes,” Harry seemed taken aback. “You didn't come here to feed my animals Albert.”

“How do you know? I'm here, I'm doing it. Besides, if you witness these events maybe you'll actually trust me to do it.”

Harry seemed suspicious but didn't question further. They finished feeding the hedgehog in silence as Albert attempted to come to terms with the fact it shared his name. He couldn't figure out if it was an insult or a compliment. Harry went to return it to the cage and Albert tidied everything away.

“Come on, show me the ropes,” Albert said when he returned. Harry looked at him like he was speaking a foreign language. “I can only stand the fumes of a photocopier for so long until the boredom threatens to make me brain dead Harry. You need the help, I need the distraction - ‘thank you’ will suffice.”

“...thank you?”

“Good enough.” He pointed to the cat that had jumped on the counter, sniffing around in hope of splashes of liquid food. “But if you tell me this one is called Albert too I'm leaving.” He was rewarded by a good-humoured huff.

“No, that's Atticus - she's female though.” He began to explain her feeding regime, her personality, likes and dislikes. Albert saw him loosening up, relaxing into the conversation.

They went out back where Harry did the same for the hens (Doris, Delilah, Hatty and Henrietta - Albert had rolled his eyes). This time the list included the when they had to come in and out of the coop, checking for eggs and cleaning regimes. They progressed to the shed and ‘Bernadette’. Harry let her out, explaining that she had free reign of the yard most of the time, as long as he was there to supervise. She chewed at Albert's sleeve. Harry chuckled.

“Sometimes I walk her in the woods.”

“I am _not_ going to do that Harry,” he said, wrestling his arm free and imagining Harry embarking on Disney-esque adventures with his feathered and furry friends.

Harry showed him how to put her halter on and tethered her to a pole in the ground - which was acceptable if he was still at home but unable to watch her. Harry scratched behind her ears before they went back inside for the final lesson: hedgehog requirements. Albert refused to call it by its name.

When Harry had finished, they sat on the couch, coffee in hand. Albert tried to keep visions of animal hair clinging to his suit from his mind. He looked over to see Harry studying him. Harry glanced away quickly.

“Thank you.” Albert nodded. “How long are you in town?”

“It will be awhile yet,” he sighed. “Nothing is ever simple here.”

“I doubt you became an FBI agent because you wanted an easy life.”

“There's complicated and there's unnecessary frustration Harry. Arguing for ten minutes about using a photocopier as FBI property is the latter.”

Harry smiled but it didn't reach his eyes. It hadn't escaped Albert's attention that he was holding his cup in both hands to prevent his tremors from spilling any. Harry looked at the cup, disheartened.

“Albert… Could you…” Albert was patient. “Getridofit,” he pushed all the words out together on his exhale. Albert didn't need clarification.

“Maybe you should keep an eye on Bernadette,” Albert suggested, taking the cup from him before he stood. Harry looked at him, worried. Albert placed a hand on his shoulder and guided him out. “I'll come and get you when I'm done,” he said, closing the door behind him.

Jacket off, sleeves up he set to work searching every hiding place in the house. He set upon one room at a time, checking the obvious places first - cupboards and drawers - before looking for more secretive areas. He collected any bottles he found in the centre of the room and when he was satisfied he had cleared it he emptied them all into the sink.

He didn't find as many as he was expecting but making sure he hadn't missed any took time. He supposed Harry had consumed a lot of them. When he was confident he had cleared the house (he'd even checked for loose floorboards) he bleached the sink to kill the smell. He bagged up the empty bottles and dumped them in the trunk of his car. All evidence erased.

He joined Harry sitting on the back step, watching the rapidly diminishing daylight. They sat in comfortable silence until the stars began to reveal themselves. Albert resisted the temptation of a cigarette. Harry stood and stretched, he offered a hand to Albert.

“Let's see if you remember today's lessons,” his smile was shaky but genuine and that was enough for now. Albert took his hand.

\-----

Harry had led him to the door when they were finished. Albert wasn't sure if leaving was the best decision. They had made good progress today but he had to respect Harry's wishes.

“Are you sure?” Was all he had said, hand on the door.

“Yes,” Harry replied with enough confidence to convince him. “I feel much better.”

Albert wanted to tell him that wasn't the point. He could still slip up if his withdrawals became too severe but he knew Harry had been here before. Determined to fight it yet unable to make it all the way alone. He wasn't alone. Perhaps that knowledge would be enough for him tonight.

It wasn't enough for Albert, unable to sleep back at the Great Northern. Plagued with paranoia that he had missed something. Visions of Harry just wanting to settle his nerves enough to not scald himself making coffee and falling back into the trap. Of their history invading his dreams, dredging up bad memories that needed drinking to oblivion.

He cursed, put on his coat and shoes and went outside. He lit a cigarette and looked at the stars. He tried to think of all of the more beautiful places to see them so clearly but all he could think of was Harry.

He thought instead of everything he had learnt. Atticus was Harry's first charge, she preferred fish flavours to meat flavours, which he supposed the chickens were thankful for. She would happily sit against you but not on you and she liked to be scratched behind the ears. Never touch her underside.

Doris was the smallest hen, Henrietta the largest. Delilah had the most feathered feet and Hatty had a few black feathers on her head. Delilah enjoyed attacking shoelaces (he had found that out himself). Doris was the most talkative. They would chase Atticus if she came too close to the coop. Harry thought she was playing a game, Albert thought she'd definitely kill one if she could.

Bernadette was an old goat, Harry wasn't sure how old. He had found her roaming a parking lot, ribs showing through, hooves overgrown. It had taken him a week to make his shed into a suitable stable. Describing her recovery seemed to touch him deeply, Albert could hear the pride in his voice. As she regained her strength her boisterous attitude was rekindled (Albert had experienced that too).

 _Albert_ was found in his yard. Underweight and out of hibernation early. He had to get veterinary advice on this one and took him for regular assessment until it became apparent they weren't too sure on hedgehog health beyond the basics. His plan was working, he was a healthy weight. Liquid feeding would continue until Harry was confident he was feeding himself. It was much easier now they had got used to each other. Albert didn't want to consider if that was a metaphor. He hadn't elaborated on the name.

Albert wondered what the fuck had happened to him.

\-----

The rest of the week followed the same pattern. Albert would assist with animal maintenance in the morning and return to the Northern. He had finished compiling the files and returned the originals within two days. Harry didn't have to know that. He would call Gordon at the end of the week to get vacation time. It would be short notice but he was overdue and wasn't working a major case so it would be granted. Gordon’s curiosity would be palpable but he had the sense not to ask.

Albert would return to Harry's in the late afternoon. Albert had voiced his concern over leaving the front door unlocked and Harry had granted him a spare key. If he was still at the station Albert let himself in but that had only happened once. Harry was at work less and less as his withdrawal symptoms became more pronounced. Albert saw his frustration at his own clumsiness. Albert came back earlier every day.

Today he brought food from the Double R with him. Harry had done so previously and he had cooked on one occasion, Albert didn't think he'd be able to do that at the present time. He knew he wouldn't want to be seen by anyone in this condition either.

Albert found him scrubbing the kitchen worktops. Harry had worked on cleaning the house in his spare time as a new distraction. One where he couldn't damage anything. Albert hadn't missed the fact Harry seemed to have wordlessly passed all of the animal duties to him. He seemed to be closing himself off from his adopted family for fear of harming them accidentally. Albert didn't like it.

“Albert!” He said, cheerfully enough but he had stopped meeting his eyes yesterday.

As they ate Albert recounted all of the idiocy he had witnessed that day. He told him who had been at the diner and deliberately got most of their names wrong. He complained about the Log Lady staring at him and her awful gum habit. When they had finished Harry had hardly said a word. They set about rounding the animals up, Albert was sure to be in charge of the latches and locks.

They ended up on the couch, like every night, coffee in hand. Albert usually left after he'd finished his drink. He had slept easier after the first uneasy night. The next day Harry was fine (as fine as he could be) and that had reassured him for a day or two. Now it was getting harder to leave him alone.

He had finished his coffee but made no move to leave. Harry's was untouched on the table, he made no attempt to try anymore, at least not in front of Albert. He curled the hair behind his ear around his fingers in a gesture that would have been idle if it wasn't so twitchy. This was a new habit to occupy his hands. It made Albert wonder what it would feel like to run his own hands through it. They sat in silence for a time. Tension began to coil in Albert's gut. Harry dropped his hand to his lap and cut through the quiet with a dry, wavering voice.

“We have to talk about it. Even if we don't want to it feels like we're avoiding it… Cooper-” Albert placed a hand over Harry's own to stop him wringing them so frantically.

“Cooper is a professional. If he doesn't want to be found I'm not surprised we didn't have much success. He wanted go into those woods alone. It's not anyone's fault.” He realised the truth of his own words as he spoke.

Harry didn't remove his focus from their hands. Albert heard his shaky inhale and felt him tense at his side. He looked like he might speak but decided against it, afraid of the emotion that might spill over instead. He bit his lower lip.

“Um… I need-” Harry managed as he made a move to get up. To leave and hide himself away. Albert wrapped an arm around his shoulders, trapping him in place.

“No.” He spoke gently, Harry could still leave if he wished.

“Please…” was all he was able to say, frail and watery before he broke.

Harry put his face in his hands as his body was racked with shuddering sobs. His breath hitching and stuttering as he continued to fight against it. Albert pulled him closer, his hand finding its way through unruly hair. Harry hid his face against Albert's neck, hands clutching at his shirt. Albert's free hand attempted soothing circles across his convulsing back.

“I'm sorry,” Albert murmured against his hair. Harry held him tighter.

It took awhile for Harry to clear his system. When he had finally stopped Albert stayed in position until Harry moved. He whispered about needing to clean up, face lowered. As he left Albert removed his shirt which was now in a terrible state, placing it on the back of the couch. The water had been running it the bathroom far too long. Harry was sensible enough not to lock any doors. Albert found him leaning over the sink, knuckles white, head down, body trapped in silent, dry sobs.

Albert turned the water off and Harry put his hands to his face again. He led him by the elbow to the bedroom and got him to lie on the bed. Harry faced the wall, breathing becoming more regular. Albert sat behind him on the edge of the bed.

“I'm going to stay here tonight,” it wasn't a request. He saw Harry nod.

He waited until Harry's breathing levelled out and progressed deeper into sleep. He turned the light out as he left the room and stood by the door for soft snores to indicate Harry's condition hadn't changed. He found a spare blanket and levered Atticus off of the couch with his foot. As he settled down for the night he felt an unimpressed stare in the dark.

“Fuck you Atticus.”

\-----

Albert awoke the next morning to the smell of coffee. When he opened his eyes he was greeted by a large furry face.

“Fuck!” He scrabbled into a seated position. Atticus glared at him from where she had been laying beside him.

“She likes you,” Harry said with a chuckle.

“Have you been watching me sleep?”

“I've been watching Atticus sleep.”

“Sure,” Albert said dryly.

Harry was sitting on the arm of the couch by Albert's feet. He looked pale but seemed refreshed, fingers playing with the hair behind his ear. He held Albert's eye contact and granted him a shy smile. Albert took his coffee from the table, pretending not to notice that Harry must have spilt some putting it down. Once he had finished he sighed and stretched the discomfort from his joints. He glanced back to Harry who looked like he had been caught out, blush creeping up his neck. He moved to look away but resolved not to, blush travelling higher.

Albert averted his eyes first this time. It wasn't the right moment to start what was developing between them. That didn't stop his stomach from somersaulting though. His entire body flinched as Atticus rubbed against his side, fur brushing skin. He cursed, Harry laughed.

“Don't you have the breakfast run to do?” Albert snapped toothlessly.

As they set about the daily routine Albert realised he had been living the domestic life. He noticed the way they moved around each other in the kitchen and how their actions complemented one another. He knew the location of anything he needed in the house and, of course, he was caring for Harry's menagerie. Staying the night had somehow solidified the situation and how ludicrous it was. He knew that for the first time he would miss Twin Peaks when he left - part of it at least.

Albert didn't go back to the Great Northern that morning. He cooked scrambled egg and helped clean the house, cursing at cat hair. Everything smelled like lemons. Albert's nasal passages burned. They watched old westerns that were playing on TV. Atticus sat between them and Albert scratched behind her ears.

“When did you finish copying the files?” Harry asked him in the commercial break.

“Oh you know the photocopier is a piece of shit. It overheats constantly.”

“Really now?” Harry said, knowing smile tugging at his lips.

“It will take another week at this rate.” Harry's fingers brushed against his own as he ran his hand down Atticus’ head. It wasn't an accident.

He was confident Harry would be stable enough to manage on his own when he left. They would keep in contact. He wasn't sure how the feeling between them would progress when he was back to working cases but he was willing to find out. He held Harry's shaking fingers beneath his own.

He'd stay another night. Maybe reconsider his booking at the Northern. Just to be sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry decides to call the hedgehog Bertie so Albert stops getting so annoyed about it. 
> 
> I'm sorry there will be a fic one day where Harry isn't dealing with an illness...
> 
> [Here](http://superkamiokande.tumblr.com/post/162996026387/aaaaaaaahhhh-here-it-is-enbyartblog-wrote-the) is AMAZING art for this fic courtesy of superkamiokande!  
> [Here](http://superkamiokande.tumblr.com/post/163066984762/doesnt-own-a-sportscoat-made-a-brilliant-joke-in) is a bonus joke.


End file.
